My first days in Greece were spent with a childish fervour for everything. I spent hours just staring at the blue ocean, walking barefoot in the sand and attempting to cartwheel with joy. The cartwheeling was painful and didn't get me very far, but it seemed necessary in order to capture the feeling. Who could possibly go to Greece and not cartwheel?
Work was boring at first. A simple list of cleaning tasks and then I could go home. The cycle home was to be achieved by cycling on a bike built for a ten year old, it was actually the ten year old's bike as apparently I was short enough not to need an adults one, against a wind that practically stopped the bike in it's tracks.
. I spent my free hours running up mountains
And inventing ways of generating air conditioning in my apartment.
It soon transpired that I was allergic to the sun and broke out in a hideous rash. The only way to avoid the rash was to remain inside.
Then work started to get busier. We started to get an assortment of customers. Mostly Greek men who were friends of the brothers and most of them were quite old and creepy. At first I was polite but then things like this started to happen.
At bar parties I was expected to mingle with the customers and generally make sure they were having fun. This resulted in me being groped on the dance floor while trying to take drink orders. This had not been part of the job description. I became suddenly aware that...
The men soon got weirder. There was one that came to the bar every day and spoke for five hours straight about Kentucky. Anytime it went silent he would bulge his eyes out and scream "Yee Haw Kentucky". He was to say the least a charmer.
There were other men too, liberal ones who tried to explain to you that some Greek men acted that way because of the way foreign girls were...
And then there was just the stereotypical Greek men that tried all sorts of inventive chat up lines on me.
Finally there was my boss and his mood swings. He would scream relentlessly at me till I cried one minute and the next try to pat me on the back and send me for a walk. It was all getting a little much.
I began to plot realistically about how I was going to escape the situation...
Thankfully in the midst of everything I realised I could Skype my sisters in pigeon-irish and nobody would know what I was saying. I could tell them what was really happening...
It was obvious I needed to plan an elaborate escape and so, with the help of the Irish language and my sisters, I began to plot.